


A Beatles song plays softly in the background

by MariaLujan



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Gen, One Shot, The Beatles - Freeform, comfort and fluff and silly things, just me writing nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28772988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaLujan/pseuds/MariaLujan
Summary: Turnadette one shots inspiring by The Beatles.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 47
Kudos: 39





	1. Shelagh: Eight Days A Week

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This will be a series of one shots inspired by songs by The Beatles. A way to unite my favorite band with my favorite ship.  
> Sometimes there will be a line from a song, or what it describes will happen, or it will just be a story to accompany a song.  
> I dreamed of many of these one shots (sometimes I dream productive things) therefore they will be little stories that I already love.  
> As always, sorry for my English (lately I am having more problems with the language, so if you see errors, I apologize).  
> Thanks for reading and commenting.

She put on two drops of perfume, one on each side of her neck, and smiled at the mirror. Her chest bubbled since that morning, when she opened her eyes and knew, _really knew_ , that everything was fine.

Timothy was still in the hospital, but nothing threatened him anymore, just the upcoming holidays where he will surely get bored at home doing physical therapy exercises. His health improved by the day, and his mood, too.

And she had left her self-imposed ostracism, and was closer to her former sisters. And the nurses, well, they had made her their favorite doll: new clothes, new hairstyles, makeup, and this perfume. The first allowed in years and it smelled delicious.

Everything was fine after the storm, everything except Nonnatus, but hope hung in the air, like the spring that was bringing an expected wedding.

So that day when she woke up, she was sure of all that. There were no guilt, no regrets. And she was in love.

So in love.

Unable to contain a smile, she looked at the watch on her wrist, and the smile lost a bit of color. It was early, it was not even nine in the morning, and there were at least eight hours to go. She would spend them occupying her hands with little things, but unable to occupy her mind with anything but Patrick.

She missed him so much, her anxiety and longing almost pained, but the pain was not like when she was in the sanitarium. That was a wound that healed, but this feeling was new, the result of her security and also her impatience. It did not hurt her, it just made her look at the clock, hoping the hours would go faster.

She would see him that afternoon, but it seemed like forever. Her chest, her stomach, everything about her jumped again in anticipation and biting her lower lip, she pushed the window curtain a bit back to look out at the street.

Outside, cars and bicycles, workers and housewives greeted each other, as a lazy sun illuminated the morning. It was an everyday thing, she saw it hundreds of times.

It was the natural landscape of Poplar, but that morning it seemed wonderful to her. People were smiling, bicycle bells sounded joyous, children were running and playing. She knew that everything was the same as always, but she also knew that that day, she saw the world with different eyes.

She was giving herself permission to be happy and feel in love. For the first time.

Her smile broadened, a little giggle escaped.

She reviewed what she would do that day and when she finished, she looked at her watch again, hoping that time had moved on, in a crazy way. But no. There were still eight hours to go, or maybe more because she could not be sure considering Patrick's job.

She frowned and stamped one foot, like a wayward child who cannot get what she wants. There was no other option but to wait, when she just wanted to see him, hug him and grin like a fool.

She never imagined that she would be in this situation. With a _fiancée,_ looking out the window and waiting for the hours to pass to meet him.

She put her mind to imagine what she would do when she saw him: she would greet him, take his arm, cuddle, and inhale his signature cigarette scent. And she would tell him that she had spent that day missing him.

She shook her head. No, she would not say such a thing. It sounded silly to say something like that. Instead, she would ask him for a cigarette. She still did not dare to do that: ask for things. But she would try. She would listen to what he told about his day, they would go together to see Timothy, and then they would chat a little more and then say goodbye.

She shook her head again. It was such a short time, just a couple of hours. Too much waiting, for later, just having that little moment together.

She sighed, but tried to feel hopeful. All of this would be over soon. She would be his wife in a few weeks and Patrick would continue his crazy work schedule, but at least they would be in the same house, have dinner together, and she could sleep and wake up with him.

Shelagh felt her blush at the thought of that, nerves and fear curling up. Just as she did not dare to ask for cigarettes, she did not ask for kisses, or any other kind of _intimacy._ She choked just thinking of the word and it made her angry.

There were a few weeks to go and she just settled for the chaste little kiss that Patrick gave her when he said goodbye every night, even when she was dying to kiss him all the time.

She looked out the window again, suddenly the joy she saw from there vanished. It seemed like a normal weekday morning, with the sellers fighting, the noise of the horns and the screams of mothers scolding their children. Her eyes no longer saw everything with the filter of happiness.

She looked at the watch. Seven hours and twenty minutes to go.

She rested her forehead on the cold glass, and with her sigh, she blurred it. With the tip of one finger, she drew a heart that soon faded.

An idea crossed her mind, and she straightened.

Running her hands up her skirt, she turned and left the room. In the living room, her landlady looked at her in surprise when she saw her go to the phone.

It barely took two rings for Patrick to answer and when she heard him, her whole world was bright again. However, he seemed concerned.

"Shelagh is there something wrong? Are you feeling good?"

She was going to say yes, and that he did not care about her call, but the wicked and unknown side of her was faster.

"Patrick I'm not feeling well, could you come here?"

"In a minute I'll be there!"

She felt guilty. He was going to leave urgent things for a lie from her. The first lie.

Her heart began to feel heavy, and she was about to call again to tell him that everything was solved and that he could continue with his day.

But she did not. She stared out the living room window again, her impatient fingers tapping on the glass, punctuating the seconds.

Until she saw the car turning the corner and she simply opened the door, ran into the street and with a jump she threw herself into the surprised arms of Patrick, who had just got out of the car.

She pressed against his neck, smiling, knowing she had done the right thing.

"Shelagh?" his voice was concerned, but his arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. He set her down gently, and Shelagh pulled back a little to get a better look at him. She immediately felt guilt again for her outburst.

"Sorry. I lied to you. I was feeling a bit bad, but it's because...I missed you so much,” she lowered her eyes and shook her head, “I'm sorry that was very silly.”

Patrick loosened his arms around her, but he did not pull away from her.

“It wasn't silly at all, it was an excellent idea. Shelagh, look at me."

Reluctantly, she barely raised her eyes. She saw him with that half smile that always destroyed her balance.

“I also needed to see you. Waiting until the afternoon was feeling like torture."

Shelagh felt relieved and dizzy from everything. She smiled and hugged him again, burying her head against his chest. She could hear the noise from the street around, but she did not care if someone saw them or commented on something.

"I'm very happy," she whispered, in a voice so small that it was a statement more to herself than to him. But Patrick heard her, and he kissed her hair.

"It makes me happy that you are happy."

Shelagh pulled away, and looked at him carefully. Then she brought her hands to his neck, and stood on tiptoe. This time she would dare, now she knew that she could take initiatives on her own, and she really wanted to kiss him, in front of all of Poplar.

But she stopped midway. Silly words crossed her mind, but it was the exact description of what was happening to her with him and not saying it seemed unfair.

"Patrick, you know? If the week had eight days, I would miss you those eight. I love you every day, you’re always on my mind, and ain't got nothing but love for you. Eight days a week is not enough to show you how much I care. I love you. I do it all the time and I need you."

It was the first time she had said it openly: "I love you." "I need you." "I Miss you."

She did not feel foolish for doing it. And if that morning when she woke up she was happy, now she was even more so.

"Oh Shelagh, darling, you are wonderful," he kissed her gently, and barely moving away from hers lips he whispered, "And I love you too, I need you, I miss you. And my life will never be enough to prove it to you."

"Hold me."

Of course he did and she closed her eyes, feeling calm and protected. She then she heard him say:

“Since you took me out of work, are we going to walk around? I only have… ”he glanced at his watch, “just a bloody hour. Sorry, it won't be enough for...”

"Yes," she interrupted, "It's not enough, but I want to spend the bloody hour with you."

Patrick laughed and offered his arm for her. He told her to find a coat, the morning was cold, but she refused, and just laid her head on his arm and smiled, smiled, and smiled.


	2. Patrick: I saw her standing there

Patrick found it criminal. Well, if it was not criminal, it was surely illegal. And if not, it was immoral. Or inappropriate.

He did not know if what he was going to do was good, but he did know that his instinct told him that not doing it would be the best.

Perhaps that night he would not meet with the police, but with angry parents, teachers, or students.

"Charles, I think this is wrong," he repeated for the tenth time that night, following his friend through the dark streets.

“Turner, I'm tired of you being so bitter. Cheer up, it will be a little adventure."

"It doesn't even get to the level of adventure," Joseph said. He was not a friend of Patrick, but he was a classmate in medical school, "crash the party is not a crime."

"But I think it is if that party has...underage children."

“You're boring, Turner,” Charles complained again, and gave him a little push, “they are 17-year-old boys and girls, they are almost adults! And we only come here to have fun without paying a ticket."

The three of them stopped in front of the school gate. Patrick grimaced, his time through high school was not very successful and to tell the truth, he hated every single one of the teachers. Being in front of a school brought back the bad memories of his disapproved grades and the reprimands of his mother.

A banner of bright letters billowed gently in the evening breeze: _"Welcome Prom 1950!"_

“We should go, plus this school seems to be for rich kids. Sure their parents are there, they will realize right away that we aren’t like them, look how we are dressed!" he said, trying to convince his companions with a solid argument and also trying not to think that going uninvited to a school for rich minors would only bring trouble.

But his friends pushed him and the three of them entered the school, where the courtyard and hallways were lit with colored lights, balloons and flowers.

Patrick looked around, the only adults seemed to be the three of them. There were only boys in shiny suits and shoes, and girls in fashionable dresses and shrill giggles.

"They're going to kick us out," he insisted. Joseph snorted.

"Let them do it if they want, but first we'll drink, we'll eat for free, we'll dance with some... Oh my God look at that beauty!"

Joseph pointed to a tall and brunette girl in a yellow dress. In her hand she was holding a glass of punch and she swayed to the music while she chatted with another girl.

"Joseph is a ...!" Patrick was going to say that the girl, as spectacular as she looked, was a child. But Joseph was already beside her, waving like a degenerate, and the girl was giggling flirtatiously.

“Get active, Patrick,” Charles tapped him on the shoulder, “Look at all this, look at how much food! Come on, make sure nobody sees me."

“Why…? Oh no Charles! Really?"

His friend took out his flask full of alcohol, which was hidden in his clothes. He immediately found the bowl full of punch and poured the flask there.

"Give me yours, Turner."

"No, I won't."

“Stop arguing, they'll find us out. Come on, give it to me."

Sighing and shaking his head, he handed him the flask of whiskey, and Charles also poured it into the bowl. Then Charles himself served two glasses to two little boys who looked like real shy nerds.

“This will cheer up those guys and they'll surely end the night kissing a girl, or... something else. You see? We do good things for humanity."

Patrick shook his head. He was going to inform his friend that he was leaving, but Charles was already with a young blonde, next to the makeshift bar that the school had set up in a corner. Next to the blonde girl was another, who looked bored and disinterested both in Charles and in all the bustle around her.

The blonde took Charles by the hand and together they went to the dance floor.

The music sounded quite thunderous, with new rock and roll and rockabilly songs that Patrick was unaware of because his days and nights were dedicated to studying and not listening to the radio or spending the little money he had on new records. But all the youngsters he saw tried hard to demonstrate complicated choreography and sang all the lyrics with enthusiasm.

Everyone, except the friend of the blonde, who was still standing by the bar.

Patrick poured himself a glass of punch, did not find it strong, but he was an adult and used to drinking. Surely the alcohol poured there would cause disasters in an hour and he no longer wanted to be present to see all those people vomit.

He took the whole glass, while he waited for Charles to stop dancing with the blonde. His friend had the flat keys they shared, and Patrick just wanted to go back there and sleep. But Charles had no intention of stopping dancing, so Patrick just leaned against the wall, waiting.

He looked around the place, and again his eyes fell on the girl at the bar, who was staring absently at the lack of control on the dance floor. She wore glasses and a high hairstyle, a pale blue dress and tight, although it was not provocative like that of her classmates. In her hand she held a glass of orange juice with some ice cubes melting more from boredom than from heat.

Patrick walked over to her. She looked fed up like him and they were both the only ones who were not dancing. He thought he could warn about the punch and alcohol, so the girl would not drink it and neither would her friends.

“Hello,” he greeted when he was at her side.

But she pulled away from him and turned her back on him.

"You don’t have to do it."

Patrick was puzzled. He looked everywhere and looked back at her, who was now spinning the ice in her juice.

"I don't understand," he managed to say.

"You don't have to talk to me, you don't need to feel sorry for me," she murmured over the bustle of the music. She had a strange accent that he did not recognize, but he sensed that she was angry.

“I…I didn't say hello for that. I just saw that you're bored like me."

She shrugged.

"What is your name?"

This time she turned her entire body towards him.

"You should know if you attend this school."

Patrick gulped. Looking at her so close, he could see that she was really pretty.

"I...forgot it," he replied to avoid being discovered.

"What an idiot," she said turning her hands back to her glass, but not drinking it.

"I beg your pardon?" he did not expect that at all.

“Nobody forgets the only girl with glasses in the whole school. I notice that you are older, stop pretending."

He felt his entire face turn red. He thought of lying again, but the girl in front of him seemed very smart.

"Well, you discovered me. I'm not from this school, I'm older and I don't know what I'm doing here. My friends brought me."

"Oh yes, the one who's dancing with Valerie and the other one who put alcohol in the punch, who's dancing with Trixie."

He thought that, then, there was no need to warn her about the alcohol. Without a doubt she was smart.

"And why don't you leave if you don't want to be here?" the girl asked suddenly, staring at him.

"Well, the same I say about you. You don't seem very happy here."

She sighed, took a sip of the juice.

“I can't leave the last ball. It is organized to celebrate our graduation.”

"Oh, I understand. Were the other balls like this too?"

“Yes, they are a pain. Oh no,” Patrick saw her looking over his shoulder.

Two young men were hugging each other and Patrick knew that the alcohol was doing the first effects.

“Ooi Shelagh why don't you come dance with us? Come on baby, didn't you bring a book to read?" they laughed and instinctively, Patrick stood between them and the girl, to protect her from those brats who wanted to annoy her, but he felt one of Shelagh's hands (now he knew her name), on his shoulder.

"Leave them, they always do that," she said with a studied nonchalance.

Patrick knew she was used to that kind of thing. School was undoubtedly the worst stage in the life of young people who were different from others.

The boys walked away, dancing. The girl got on a high stool that it was unoccupied. Sitting there, her feet did not touch the ground, and she leaned against the bar.

"I'm sorry," Patrick murmured, and for the first time he saw a smile on her face, although it was a sad smile.

“Don't worry, it's always the same. Luckily I will never see them again in my life,” she looked at him for a moment, and this time she gave him a slightly more cheerful smile. “And thank you.”

"You're welcome."

He looked at her well. Sitting on the stool, she was now level with him. She pushed her glasses over her nose, took another sip of the juice, and began toying with one of her shoes. With the help of one foot, she took it off the other, held it with her toes, and then put it back on.

"So your name is Shelagh," he said, trying to fill the silence between them.

Patrick could see Charles now not only dancing with the blonde but also with a redhead. They all laughed. He should continue to wait until his friend gave him the keys, and he had nothing to do except be with this beautiful but shy and angry girl.

"Yes."

"I'm Patrick," he tried to sound friendly.

But she just shrugged.

"Good," she twirled the almost-gone ice in her juice and took another sip.

Then she looked down, the shoe that she had been putting on and taking off of her foot had fallen to the ground. She tried to get off the stool and stretched her leg to took the shoe, but Patrick leaned in and was faster.

He picked up the fallen shoe and looked at her.

"Cinderella?"

She rolled her eyes but giggled sweetly. Then she stretched out her foot.

Quickly so as not to embarrass her, Patrick put the shoe on her foot. It was small and pale, wrapped in a silky stocking, but he could see blisters.

"Don't they make you hurt?" he asked, risking sounding too nosy. This beautiful but stern girl could throw her shoes over his head. But she laughed.

“Yes, and they are horrible too! Trixie insisted that I buy them. I miss my slippers,” she laughed again, and Patrick joined her in laughing.

"But it's the last ball so after today, you'll never wear them again."

"Certainly."

“Let's drink for that. Can I invite you another juice? It seems that you don't like the one you have," he pointed her glass, still full of juice.

“Yes, it's pretty gross. An apple juice would be nice."

“My favorite,” Patrick ordered two juices from the boring waiter who was in charge of the bar. When he got them, he clinked his glass with Shelagh's.

"For the death of all high heels."

She laughed and clinked her glass against his. Then she smirked when she took a sip of her juice.

"This is good."

"It is true. And besides your name is Shelagh and you hate shoes and orange juice, what do you do?"

She laughed another little.

"Not much. Just study. And you, besides sneaking into parties where you were not invited and trying to seduce underage girls, what do you do?"

Patrick felt embarrassment creep up his body and coughed. That made her laugh too.

“I’m a medical student. Third year."

She opened her mouth, and he thought she was going to reprimand him or worse, yell for someone to kick him out. It was bad to be a simple intruder, but it was much worse to be a university man among a bunch of schoolgirls.

"Medicine!" she exclaimed instead, "I will enter nursing school in September!"

"Well, it will be nice to see you in the corridors of the hospitals," he winked at her but she just looked at him, hard, "And… why do you want to study nursing?"

“It's something I've always liked, since I was little. Heal people, help them, also educate on different healthy habits, keep abreast of the latest advances in science and…” her cheeks burned, she lowered her head, “Sorry.”

"Why?" he was surprised by her attitude.

"Sometimes I start talking like a know-it-all," she shook her head.

Patrick knew again that school was sure to be an ordeal for her, and that she felt free to finish it. But he knew, first hand, that much worse was to come. So he decided to be honest because _God, she's gorgeous._

“Shelagh, I'll give you a piece of advice: Doctors, for the most part, are bastards. They believe they are superior, and much more with nurses, because they are nurses and women. So never let them destroy your confidence."

She blinked, then frowned.

"Do they really do that?" she asked sheepishly.

"Unfortunately yes."

She was serious, and looked at the glass of juice.

“Thank you for telling me that, I didn’t know it. I thought the most hostile place was this school.”

He felt tenderness to hear her innocence and decided to cheer her up a bit.

“I'm sure you will be very capable. And best of all, patients will adore you."

She smiled looking at her juice, her cheeks red again.

"Thank you. They will think the same of you."

"Do you want to dance?" he reached out his hand to her. The music was still playing even though the dance floor was a bit empty.

Shelagh looked around. Her classmates were scattered, some dancing, others already drunk, others, like Trixie, kissing in a corner with Patrick's friend.

"You can take off your shoes if you want," he said and she smiled and took his hand.

"Thanks for that!"

She got off the stool and letting go of his hand for a moment, took off her shoes, which she neatly set aside.

Then she took Patrick's hand, and he felt her trust there. Without the heels, she was even smaller. They walked to the floor, and while they both danced pretty badly, they laughed a lot doing all kinds of nonsense.

Patrick realized that he desperately wanted to kiss her. Her laugh was very contagious, she was funny, smart, beautiful. _Perfect._

She was, indisputably, the girl of his dreams.

He internally thanked Charles and Joseph for dragging him to that school.

But precisely because of them, the dance with Shelagh ended. Some teachers appeared, leading the drunker students outside, and quickly identifying the intruders. Patrick smiled at Shelagh, knowing what his fate was.

"I must go before they come for me."

"It will be for the best," she slipped her hand from his, but stayed close to him. She pointed a finger at a group of teachers, “The bald man over there is the math teacher, Mr. Witt. Everyone says he was a boxer when he was young."

Patrick could already feel the pain of a fist in his face so he decided to keep his integrity and run away before the math teacher saw him.

"See you soon, Shelagh."

"See you soon," she gave him a mischievous giggle, "when I'm 18."

He laughed, nodding. Before running out of the school door, he turned and saw her standing there, waving her hand, smiling at him.

She was his girl, and he vowed to find her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patrick get away from that girl or I'll call the police!


	3. Shelagh: We can work it out

“How is it possible that you don't know?! You are a nurse!"

"And you are a doctor, you should know that too!"

Shelagh turned, walking out of her husband's office. She tried to close the door, but he followed her, putting on a show for all the patients sitting in the waiting room.

"Shelagh! Shelagh come here right now!"

"I'm not your fucking dog, you don't have to give me orders!"

But he was already squeezing one of her arms, pulling her.

"Let me go, Patrick! Leave me alone!"

The sound reached her brain first, before the pain in her cheek. There, in front of everyone, Patrick had hit her. She looked at him in disbelief, feeling her face burn from the slap and the outrage.

"Fuck off!" she spat.

A strong cough cut into her throat, choking her.

She found herself sitting on the bed, surrounded by darkness, coughing desperately for a little water. She stretched, until she turned on the light and the relief made the cough dissipate along with the fear.

She grabbed the glass of water that was on the nightstand and took two long gulps, trying to calm her mind and her racing heart.

"It was all a nightmare, Shelagh, take it easy," she told herself, watching the glass shake in her hand.

She looked around, it had not all been a nightmare.

Patrick was not there, and who knows where he was.

Tears began to burn in her eyes, and she took another drink of water. Sitting, she hugged her knees, trying to say a prayer, but her mind could not focus on the words that had previously comforted her.

That afternoon they had fought for the first time. And of course, it was due to a completely stupid thing.

She wiped away an errant tear on her cheek and glanced at the clock: almost two in the morning.

How foolish she was to think that she would never argue with him, thinking that with love, everything would work out. It had been four months since the wedding and nothing had disturbed the peace between them, so she came to firmly believe that no altercation would occur, that they were truly perfect and for each other.

A dry, salty laugh came out of her mouth: How could she think such idiocy? As much as she tried to prove otherwise, it was evident that she was too innocent.

She thought about what happened that afternoon, again, looking for the different edges of something that was plain and simple: a mistake, which led to a fight.

She lost some files, which Patrick needed, and as much as she assured him that she would find them, he was furious. He had not slept the night before, busy with a complicated delivery, and that morning three children with measles appeared, heralding the next epidemic. And also the patients seemed never to take care of the sun and now, in the middle of summer, all of them came with burns on their skin. And a hysterical mother had arrived assuring that her son had something strange, although it was only his first tooth.

It was too much for one man, and somehow, he had to explode.

But that did not justify him doing it to her.

So he yelled at her for those files, and she, far from crying or lowering her head, had narrowed her eyes and returned the same poison.

He was very wrong if he thought he could yell at her like that, especially when the files were well ordered but he scattered them every day anywhere, without taking a minute to properly arrange them in their place.

He seemed surprised at her response, so he left, leaving her with a mess of patients, nurses, and mothers. Shelagh managed to control the whole situation, because she was not only a nurse but also an efficient secretary.

Patrick only came back for dinner, which he ate without saying a word, and when the phone called him, he seemed to be relieved that he had to leave the house.

She cleaned everything up without saying anything but answers to Timothy's questions, who was fully aware that something bad had happened but was trying to talk about something else.

Then she lay down, with the catastrophic feeling that everything was over between them.

When she fell asleep, her brain filled in the gaps with terrible nightmares that tortured her over and over again until she managed to wake up.

Taking a shaky breath, she leaned back again. She clung to the pillow, and managed to pray that the next few hours were not filled with the same dreams. She left the light on like she was a little girl. The thought brought her more tears.

She suddenly heard the sound of the car and squeezed her eyelids. She stayed like that, hearing the characteristic noises of Patrick trying to move silently: the creaking of the steps, the water in the bathroom, the door to the bedroom slowly opening. She heard him take his pajamas and walk away, but he did not close the door behind him. He came back and she felt him sit next to her.

"Shelagh."

She did her best to look sleepy.

"Shelagh I know you are awake."

She only made the movement of opening her eyes. He looked completely exhausted and sad, but she remained in her place.

"I'm awake but I don't want to talk to you," she said in a firm voice.

She reached out to turn off the light and he gently took her arm. The memory of her nightmare washed over her and she withdrew abruptly. He looked even more hurt.

"Shelagh, I'm so sorry."

She pulled more of the blanket to cover herself and settled better on the pillow, not looking at him.

It was wrong what she was doing, but her compassionate nun days were behind. In that short time she learned to be selfish for her own good and now she was really hurt by what happened. Yelling at her for some files without caring who could hear him, then leaving her with all the mess to return just to dinner as if she were his maid, cook, and nanny for his son, all that, and more things that she remembered and that in her blindness from being in love she did not see, made her furious.

“I don't want to talk to you, Patrick. I want to sleep."

"But I want to talk Shelagh, please, I don't want us to spend the night without talking to each other."

With a deliberately slow movement, she sat up and looked him in the eye. She trembled at the sight of him like this, but she swallowed and clenched her teeth.

“I always do what you want, and you should know how selfish that is, Patrick. Well, tonight I'll do what I want, and what I want is not to talk to you and sleep."

"Shelagh, please. I'm so sorry," he took her hands, kissed them, "Forgive me, please."

She slowly withdrew her hands from his desperate grip and looked down.

"You hurt me," she whispered.

"I know, and that's why I want..."

“Let me finish, Patrick,” she looked up, saw him sadder still, “You hurt me by yelling at me like that. I know that you are exhausted by everything, I understand it, and you know that I will be there to help you in everything, and to lighten your load. But if you want to take your frustrations out on someone, don't do it on me. I'm not...someone to use as you please."

She knew it was not very fair to tell him that. He had been very patient with her, giving her love and affection in many different ways.

She took a deep breath, twirling her wedding ring on her finger.

“I don't deserve that. Just because you have experience in marriage doesn’t mean that I’m a stupid girl."

She looked into his eyes, and he lowered his head, embarrassed.

He took her hands again, and she did not withdraw them. She saw him gulping, nodding.

“You are not a stupid girl, Shelagh. And my experience in marriage should have taught me not to be this way. You're right, I’m often very selfish. It's not your fault that I can't stop working, and that I always mess up what you arrange. Also...we were in my office, but I know that many there heard when I yelled at you."

“I yelled at you too,” she said, taking her portion of the blame.

"Yes, but you did it because I started, Shelagh," he looked up at her, "Forgive me."

She nodded, and squeezed his hands a little.

"I know this is our first fight, and I must confess that I was a fool to think that we would never fight..."

He made a half smile even though it was very sad.

"Sorry darling, but there will be more fights."

“I know, they are inevitable. But not like this, please. It is not necessary for you to yell, or to act as if you were my father... And it is not necessary for me to yell at you or try to challenge you or..., “ the tears welled up, and she tried to dry them, but he stroked her cheeks, wiping them.

"Shelagh, please don't cry. I’m so sorry."

He spread his arms for her and she snuggled up, this time unable to stop her crying.

"I know we can work on this, we can work it out," she whispered into his chest, between sobs.

"Shelagh, of course," he parted her slightly, smiling at her, "we will. We are two people, sometimes we are the same in some things and sometimes very different. We will make it, I assure you."

She hugged his chest again, feeling his hands on her back, and lips on her hair.

After a few minutes, calmer, she separated from him.

"Patrick you have to go to bed, you haven't slept in two days."

"I will, I will go to the couch."

"What? Why do you want to do that?"

"To ... give you your space."

She took his chin and brought it to her lips.

"Don't be silly, sleep here," she kissed him softly, "also I had some horrible nightmares, I won't be able to sleep quietly if you're not here."

He frowned.

"Nightmares?"

Shelagh sighed, nodding.

"About us. Over and over the same fight, but with some different things. In the last one you...you hit me. "

Horrified, he pulled away from her arms.

"Shelagh! Did you ever think that I could hit you?"

“No, no, Patrick, never. But I saw it so many times in so many marriages that...I guess my mind used that to annoy me,” a shiver ran through her spine at the memory.

Her crying seemed to start over again, because a couple of big tears sprouted, which she ignored, although he saw them perfectly. He hugged her, pulling her against him, rocking her and stroking her hair.

"Oh love, I'm sorry for all the damage I caused you in one afternoon."

"You're forgiven, Patrick," she whispered, then yawned and pulled away from him. She patted the spot next to her on the bed, "Come sleep, we're both exhausted."

He quickly changed his clothes and lay down next to her, rolling her onto his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Shelagh."

“I'm sorry too, Patrick."

He smiled slightly, kissed her slowly and then parted from her lips.

"Well, we passed the first fight."

Shelagh smiled, laying down on his chest.

"Yes, now we really are a married couple."


	4. Patrick: Words of Love

He could not stop looking at her. She moved before his eyes from here to there, and although she was upset, and also furious that she could not show it openly, she still looked beautiful and he knew he was smiling like a fool.

"Are you listening to me?" now she was looking at him with her hands on her hips, her face red and her chest heaving.

"Y... yes, yes, of course."

Luckily for him, she seemed to believe him and walked away, saying something about Sister Ursula.

There he realized that in all that time, she had been ranting in whispers against the new authority of Nonnatus, and was in his surgery only because she needed to complain to the nun about the new system of only twenty minutes per patient, and other things that he did not listen at all.

Nothing could matter to him when his Shelagh was there, unexpectedly. His mind, since a few days ago, was only on her beautiful and perfect wife, who carried within her a miracle. He could not help but remember her smile when she told him, his surprise, the extreme happiness they felt. Everything paled compared to the big little secret they shared.

A child. A baby created by them, the result of the deep love they felt.

His head spun, imagining what the baby would be like. Oh he would be very stubborn, like the two of them, and sweet like her, and distracted like him. Would he be a boy? Would she be a girl? What if they were twins?

He giggled at the idea, thinking how shocking the news of two babies together would be.

Shelagh passed the office on her way to the other rooms, talking to Trixie and complaining even more, without even stopping to look at him.

He liked it like that, being able to look at her without her knowing. It was something that he had practiced well years ago, when he was just Dr. Turner and she was Sister Bernadette. How far they had come together. If he stopped to think about it, he still could not believe his lucky: that nun he loved madly, was now his wife and pregnant with his baby, with a family made with patience and love, and a home sweet home with laughter, music, and happiness.

He blinked out of the reverie and checked his watch, he had ten free minutes he could spend hugging Shelagh and trying to calm whatever was happening to her with the new nun, but he could hear her indignant voice out there, talking to Sister Julienne.

He smiled when he heard her, she always used simple but effective words and her anger was channeled more with what she did not say than with what she expressed verbally.

“And I honestly can't believe what she's doing to you! It's completely unfair!"

That sounded louder and harsher, but Patrick smiled again, although he knew that if Shelagh were looking at him, she would have been more enraged. But whatever she did seemed lovely to him.

Patrick saw Shelagh's medical bag in front of him. He remembered that in her burst of fury she dropped it on his desk, as she continued the string of complaints and then walked away. An idea popped into his mind and Patrick looked at his watch again, free time running out fast.

Taking various papers, he began to write. He filled each sheet with little notes of three or four words. Then he untidily folded them and opening Shelagh's bag, he dropped all the papers there.

He closed her bag with a click just in time before she appeared at his office door, too occupied with angering to realize that her bag was in Patrick's hands. He tried to look at her innocently.

“If this doesn't change she will kill us, or I will kill her first,” roughly she took her bag from him and turned away, also complaining about the strands of hair that had come off her hairstyle.

"Bye, Shelagh," he crooned, pretending to go back to work. He saw her turn, her angry face changed to a sweeter one.

"Oh sorry Patrick," she retraced her steps and gave him a little kiss on the cheek, "See you later."

"Take care my love."

She came out a little calmer, and he, leaning back in his chair, was satisfied with his little mischief.

But he immediately regretted it.

Shelagh was very angry that day, and he wanted to change that, but an annoyed Shelagh would not really appreciate opening her bag on an urgent search for some instrument only to find it full of romantic notes.

At another time she would be happy and smile non-stop, but _that_ day, she would not be happy.

He put his hands to his head. He made everything worse and she would return, no doubt, to present her claims to him and scold him for his unprofessional attitude.

After all, she was right. If he wanted to show her love, the best thing he could do was not to bother her or obstruct her work. He should help her in a more effective way. For example, that night he could wash the dishes and clean the living room and kitchen. She would be much more grateful for that than for a bag full of useless papers.

"Oh no," was all he could say, before he got to work again, trying to focus on forgetting that he would soon receive all the fury of his wife.

****

The afternoon passed quickly, and instead of feeling anxious and happy as a puppy at Shelagh's return from her rounds, he really dreaded the moment.

He heard her greeting patients, then he heard her little footsteps and then he saw her standing in the doorway.

"Hi, love" he greeted her.

She walked in, closed the door behind her, and dropped the bag with a thud in front of him.

"Hello Patrick."

He smiled stupidly and nervously. He knew what hormones could do to a pregnant woman, and while Shelagh was in the early stages, that did not mean she could not burst into anger, or crying, or anything completely unpredictable.

Patrick swallowed hard and watched her approach him and sit on his desk, next to him, as she always did. He was tempted to stroke her legs, but did not want to risk more.

Her gaze was completely indecipherable and he feared for his life.

From one of her uniform pockets, Shelagh pulled out a stack of papers that he recognized instantly.

Taking one, she opened it and read: _"I always miss you."_

"Yes, it's true," he smiled, but she only looked at him harshly.

She put the paper on the desk, took another and opened it: _"You are beautiful and perfect."_

"And more every day."

There was also no response from Shelagh, who took another paper.

_"You make me very happy."_

"All the time. Am I not making you happy?"

But she did not seem willing to talk. Taking another paper, she read: _"You are the love of my life."_

Her voice shook a little this time, and Patrick knew that even if it was very little, she was touched. He reached out his hand to take hers, but stopped in time and just rested it on the desk, next to the stack of papers.

_"I want to spend more time with you."_

"It's never enough, you know."

_"I love you with all my heart."_

"And with all my brain too."

She barely lifted the corner of her mouth into a small smile, but that was it.

_"If I could I would give you the world."_

"There I was more inspired, don't you think?"

She only raised an eyebrow, and took one last paper: “ _I want to eat you with kisses._ Seriously, Patrick, is it necessary to write this?"

At last there was a reaction and he laughed a little.

"What? I don't see anything wrong with telling you!"

"Yes Patrick but not filling my bag with papers!"

“Oh yes, well…I…I'm sorry. The truth is that I did it impulsively and then I realized... You were angry with all this that happens and I just interrupted your work more and... "

He could not continue, she was on his lap, kissing him passionately, burying her hands in his hair, pressing against his body. When he reacted and was about to kiss her back, she pulled away from his lips and squeezed his chin.

“I was just kidding, silly,” she gave him a little kiss on the nose, “I’m really happy with your surprise. It is a beautiful detail."

She kissed him barely on the lips and then hugged him. Patrick smiled, he had accomplished his task.

“Today was a terrible day, and I also had so much nausea. Although I don't know if I’m nauseous from pregnancy or from seeing Sister Ursula's decrepit face."

Patrick laughed heartily, then kissed her hair.

"My, my, Shelagh Turner speaking of a nun like that."

"She is not a nun, she is the devil."

"Shelagh!" he pretended to be scandalized even though he laughed even more. He pulled her away to get a good look at her, her face was mischievous. His heart swelled with love once more.

"I'm sorry but I have to talk openly with someone about what is happening, and who better than you?"

“Oh love, you don't know how happy I am to hear that. You already know that with me you can curse whoever you want, your secret is safe," he kissed her on the lips, put a hand on her belly, “and this secret too."

She giggled, snuggling her head into his shoulder.

“This is the only thing that matters to me. Well, I have to go, I don't want that woman to appear here and see us like that."

"Can you imagine it?" he laughed again.

She jumped to her feet and smoothed her uniform. With one quick movement she grabbed all the notes and shoved them into her pocket, winking at him. Then she moved closer to his face, kissed him on the cheek and again with a quick movement, detached the top button from his shirt.

"I'm going home, I'll be waiting for you to eat me with kisses."

She almost ran out and laughed at his stunned face, leaving him even more in love and idiot.

****

The next day, the chaos of the morning seeped into the house, as always. Patrick was upset, before hearing his wife's sweet voice, he was awakened by Sister Ursula's harsh and graceless voice on the phone, with complaints about his work and ordering new things that he was not willing to obey.

Then it was too late and he went out on his rounds with just a coffee and a quick kiss from Shelagh.

His day started badly, but when he arrived at the house of the first patient and opened his bag, he found it filled with small colored pieces of paper. He hid his blush as best he could and worked under a mask of professionalism until he got in the car and eagerly collected all the tidy notes, with which Shelagh filled his bag.

Her notes were far from the sweet words he gave her and he had to cough several times, gasping for air from the sudden heat he felt.

By looking at the time on his watch, he verified that he could delay his morning even further. After all, he had a reputation for being late everywhere.

Before anything else, he had more important things to do: he must comply with the wishes of his wife.


	5. Shelagh: Your mother should know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even like this song, but I dreamed of this little story and it was too cute to refuse to write it.

Shelagh looked at him curiously, taking a few steps closer to the tree.

“Come on Shelagh, come here. Don't you dare?”

She shook her head, unsure of what to say. Her new neighbor and friend, Patrick Turner, was hanging upside down from a branch like a little monkey, and that was absolutely hilarious and she wanted to do it too, but she could not stop thinking about the dire consequences of climbing the tallest tree in the whole neighborhood.

“No,” she resolved to say.

She knew he would not laugh at her admission.

In the two months that they had been neighbors, he had proven to be her most loyal friend. In reality, he was her only friend. Patrick did not seem to care that she was a girl, shy, wore glasses, and was Scottish, four terrible things that all the other kids used to make fun of her. He also did not care that she was 8 years old, and he was almost 10. It was a huge abyss between them, but Patrick was quite a…peculiar boy. Ever since he moved into the house next to her, he invited her to play and participate in extravagant adventures, like the one he was now undertaking.

“Come on Shelagh, it’s not as high as it appears,” jumping one branch to the other, Patrick was climbing higher.

“Maybe...you should climb another tree. This one is too big,” she was not sure he would hear her, because he climbed even higher.

She looked everywhere, it was getting darker, and fewer and fewer people were in the park. She stood by the trunk of the tree.

“Patrick...”

He seemed not to hear her, now he was sitting on a thick branch, singing a song that he invented.

“Patrick, your mother should know.”

She heard him laugh.

“If my mother knew, she wouldn't let me be here. See what I can do.”

Shelagh closed her eyes, not wanting to see her friend fall headfirst to the ground, but he was pleased to imitate the circus trapeze artists.

“Patrick get down, you're going to fall and break a leg or something!”

He straightened up, sat down on the branch again.

“Shelagh you are a terrible killjoy! If you don't want to come here at least stop complaining!”

Offended, she crossed her arms and turned around.

“I go to my home!”

“I don't care! Then don't come to my house and ask me to play with your silly dolls!”

“I'm not going to do it!” she said already moving further away.

“I hope so, _four eyes_.”

She opened her mouth, completely surprised that he was saying that to her. It was a complete betrayal. She turned around, only to yell at him:

“I hope you fall and break all your bones!”

She strode away still with her arms crossed, hating that stupid boy.

Suddenly, she heard a rattle of branches, a thump, and a heartrending scream.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Patrick on the ground, screaming as he clasped his right arm with one hand. She ran to him.

“Patrick!” she yelled, flopping down next to him.

“Don't touch me, I don't want to see you!”

“Don't be silly, remember I'll be a nurse!”

“And I'll be a doctor, I don't need you! Leave me, Shelagh!” he pushed her away with his hand, but he gave another cry of pain.

Shelagh stood up and ran as fast as she could. They lived very close to the park, but she believed that she would never make it. When she did, she hit the door with all her might until Patrick's mother opened it.

“Oh Shelagh, Patrick is not here.”

“I know! He fell out of a tree and I think he broke his whole body!”

****

That night she could not get much sleep. She was grateful that they were on holidays, because if she had to go to school the next morning, she would have fallen asleep on her desk.

She could not stop thinking about what she yelled at Patrick, and what happened next. She, too, could not stop thinking about the pain that her friend would be feeling. She never broke anything, but she knew it hurt a lot, and wearing a cast or several during the summer it would only itch and discomfort. She felt guilty and sad and began to cry, until she got up and went down to the kitchen, where her mother was still watching television while she ironed clothes.

“Mom!”

Her mother, Julienne, looked very surprised when she saw her crying at the foot of the stairs.

“Shelagh dear, what's wrong with you? Why are you not sleeping? Does something hurt?”

“I think I’m a witch!”

She felt worse when she saw her mother laugh a little, but Julienne turn off the iron and sit on the couch. Shelagh climbed onto her lap.

“Why do you think that madness?”

“I told Patrick to fall off the tree and break all his bones, and a second later it happened! And now he must be all broken and full of casts in the hospital and he will hate me forever!"

“Oh darling,” her mother slowly combed her hair with her fingers, “Patrick didn't break all his bones, it was just his arm, and he's at his home. And you're not a witch, the branch your friend decided to sit on was really quite weak. It was logical that he ended up on the ground. I'm glad you didn't come up with him."

“I didn't want, but I should have stopped him.”

“Don't worry about him, I think he already learned the lesson. Tomorrow you will surely see him, and you will realize that he’s fine. Ask him for forgiveness for what you said and everything will go back to the way it was before,” with a kiss on her forehead, she accompanied Shelagh to her room and put her to bed.

Calmer, Shelagh fell asleep instantly.

****

The next morning Shelagh ate the breakfast and walked out onto the sunny sidewalk, and saw him. Head down and sitting on a bench, he had his entire right arm dangling in a sling. She walked slowly and stood next to him.

“Hello,” she greeted.

He did not raise his head.

“Hello Shelagh,” he whispered through tears

“Are you crying?” she climbed onto the bench and sat next to him.

“Nobody wants to play with me. They told me sick and invalid” he barely raised his broken arm, and winced in pain.

“I want to play with you.”

He shook his head, still not looking at her.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “for what I told you yesterday. You were right about everything.”

“I'm sorry too. I thought I was a witch, but my mom said I’m not.”

He laughed a little, and made another wince.

“A witch? You?”

“I told you I wish you fell and broke all your body and that happened.”

“Well, I just broke my arm. Luckily it is the right and not the one I use to write. It still hurts a lot.”

“I'm sorry.”

He just nodded, still staring at the ground.

She was very sorry, her friend always ran everywhere and laughed and made funny faces. She never seen him sad and thought about how to make him happy.

“Patrick, can I draw something on your cast?”

He looked up, smiling.

“What a good idea, yes! Bring your colors.”

She immediately ran to her house and grabbed her box of pencils and markers that she reserved for special occasions. When she returned to the street, she found him a little more excited.

She sat next to him and thought what she could draw. All of her drawings were always huge, but Patrick's arm was very small. So she drew a heart with a little face and added her signature.

He smiled.

“I like it, now I'll make a drawing too. Can I borrow your green marker?”

She handed him the object and he began to draw something.

She looked at him carefully, he was more cheerful and animated, and he seemed to be her friend again. She would take care of him, and the next times he wanted to do new antics, she would remind him of the consequences.

She felt an impulse, a way to show her affection for him, and sliding down the bench, she moved closer to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. Very quickly, she pulled away.

He stopped drawing on his cast and looked out at the street. His face was red with embarrassment.

“Why did you do that?” he asked and she feared he had gotten angry. She could not understand why a simple kiss could make someone angry.

She shrugged.

“I don’t know. Because you’re my best friend and I love you.”

He smiled and handed her marker back. On his arm he had drawn another heart with a little face, and also a tree.

“It's to remind me not to try to climb other trees,” he explained, showing the drawing, “Shelagh do you want us to go to Mr. Cooper's shop? My sister said there are bunnies.”

She loved that pet shop, and she also loved when they had bunnies or little chickens.

“Yes!” she screamed, jumping off the bench and gathered her markers and pencils.

Patrick stood up, and quickly, he kissed her cheek.

“Thank you Shelagh, I love you too,” he said in an embarrassed whisper, staring at the ground.

Then he gave her his good hand, and she took it and they walked together to the shop.


	6. Patrick: I want to hold your hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a little sad, so this is a little sad.

He adjusted his tie, feeling nervous. Nothing had gone right on his day, his car was broken, his patients were sicker than ever, his son was complaining and the weather seemed to dump all the rain on his head. He was cold, he was wet, and the flowers he bought were frayed like an old rag.

He knew she would not care about any of that, and the thought of seeing her shy smile warmed his soul, but it was not fair. He promised to take her on a date, a real date, and all he was doing was running late, walking around without even an umbrella, and apologizing.

He ran a hand through his hair and knocked on the door. He still had to go through one more test: seeing the face of the woman who was housing Shelagh, who looked at him with more distrust every day despite the fact that all the medication she took was prescribed by him.

But luck was on his side, because the one who opened the door was Shelagh. She looked worried. Patrick felt his heart sinking because she too looked sad.

_“Perfect Patrick, you make her feel sad too. What else are you going to ruin?"_ his mind screamed.

"Patrick!" The cadence of her voice saying his name brought out a small smile.

"Sorry Shelagh, I know I'm late."

"Nonsense, I know you didn't do it on purpose," she gave him a smile, but Patrick already knew her very well and was not convinced. She was sad, and she could not hide it.

“I know you've been waiting for a while, and I'm sorry to tell you…I don't have the car. It's broken. And the weather is very bad so… "

She understood immediately. Her eyes dropped to the ground, she nodded.

"No problem" again, that sad smile directed at him.

He held up the poor flowers in apology and she giggled a little even though the sadness was still there.

"Oh, they are..."

"No, don't say they're pretty," he cut her off, but she took the bouquet anyway.

“They are only a little battered, when I put them in a vase they will revive. Do you want to come in?"

He pursed his lips, shaking his head and she nodded again. They both knew that entering the house would only be to look at each other and exchange two words about the weather and nothing more. Not much could be done under the strict gaze of that woman.

"We can go out anyway," Shelagh said, looking down the street. It no longer rained and the street was deserted. But it was getting dark and an icy breeze was blowing.

"It's very cold, I don't want you to get sick."

He knew it was a mistake to say that. He only wanted to take care of her and protect her, but at that moment, Shelagh seemed even hurt by his words. So many negatives, so many failures could only lead to one conclusion: that he did not want to spend time with her.

"Shelagh, don't think that," he said before he could stop himself.

She raised her eyes, smiled slightly.

"How do you know what I think?" she leaned against the doorjamb and shivered with cold.

Patrick decided that he must do something. He had this beautiful girlfriend, the perfect fiancée, the most angelic woman in the world, and he could not get a real smile out of her or keep a simple promise.

"Put on the thickest coat you have, let's go for a walk."

Immediately her face lit up and she ran inside. Patrick could not suppress a chuckle. With the speed of light, Shelagh was already back, hugging herself against her new coat, walking out the door with a huge smile.

Patrick saw that some of her hair had escaped her hairstyle, which she had surely done with great care many hours before. He was tempted to touch those fine hairs, but he stopped. Everything about her was neat and perfect and he... Well, he was far from it. He felt quite unworthy of her.

"Patrick, don't think that."

He looked at her in surprise, she laughed heartily, as they took their first steps on the empty street.

"How do you know what I think?"

She gave him a mischievous smile, shrugging.

"Where do you want to go? I'm sorry but we lost the reservation at the restaurant."

"I know. Maybe a coffee?" she shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, clearly cold.

Patrick reached out an arm to draw her toward him, but stopped again, not because of his insecurity, but because he remembered where they were: although there was no one on the street, and it was getting dark quickly, everyone here knew who they were and what was going on between them. And Shelagh had repeatedly demonstrated her reluctance to any closeness while they were in public.

He looked at her sideways, indeed she was walking a couple of steps, separated by an invisible wall that clearly bothered her but did not dare to jump.

Patrick thought he was putting her through this, when he could not give anything in exchange for her. She was so mischievous and nice when they were together or when Tim was also among them, but she became a different person in front of others, fleeing from the gazes as if she were the worst of criminals.

He was afraid that this behavior would continue forever, that Shelagh would feel compelled to be two different people just to save his reputation and that of his son. Between his insecurities and hers, the two of them would make a mess. And if he could not change much about himself, at least he could help her find a way and realize that the love they felt did not force her to hide from herself.

He looked at her, she continued to walk beside him, but she also seemed in her deep thoughts, thoughts that seemed to be worrying her more with each step she took, erasing the sudden enthusiasm she had just a few moments ago.

"You feel cold?" he asked stupidly, it was clear that she was.

“Yes,” she whispered lightly, “but forget about the coffee. I...I don't want us to go to the nearby coffee shops. And we can't walk to go to another one further away."

"Shelagh," he stopped, and so did she, standing in front of him.

Patrick thought that his day was getting worse by the minute, because her eyes were wet and he did not even know what to do or say to take away whatever worry she was feeling.

He tried to reach for one of her hands hidden in her pockets, slowly bringing his fingers closer, but she pulled away a little.

“Shelagh, I don't want you to feel that way. You didn't do anything wrong, we are not doing anything wrong."

"I know, but others don't think the same."

"Then let them talk."

“No, no,” she shook her head, looking at the ground, “everyone talks and I don't care, but I do care when you and Tim are involved. I know that everyone knows it but I don't want to give them more things to talk about."

"But Shelagh we will get married," again he tried to get closer but she again moved away, almost scared, "Shelagh I just want to hold your hand. I want to walk with you down the street holding your hand. We don't have to hide."

"Yes," she affirmed, more vehemently.

"No," he took her chin and looked into her eyes, "we don't have to, we mustn't hide something so beautiful."

He slowly approached her and kissed her gently. She tensed under his lips, but she did not move away. It was a short, simple kiss, and when he broke away from her, she lowered her eyes. Patrick saw that despite her shyness, there was a smile on her face.

"Fine, you can hold my hand," she said without looking at him, "no hugs or kisses, but you can hold my hand."

"Perfect then" he took one of her hands, "with this I am the happiest man."

She did not answer, just squeezed his hand and they walked slowly. He could see her tension fade as they chatted, becoming more and more relaxed.

She was laughing openly about his terrible day and it seemed to him that if it made her laugh, then he was willing to go through more days like that. He told her how he ended up drenched in oil after the car decided to spit on him and she gave a loud laugh that made several windows light up.

"What a scandal," Shelagh whispered covering her mouth, but still laughing.

As it grew darker and colder, Patrick could feel her draw closer to him, until she was shoulder to shoulder. He decided to risk and this time he extended his arm and she let herself be hugged, without making any protest.

A group of workers turned the corner and came over talking and laughing. Neither recognized the couple, but Shelagh broke away from his embrace quickly as soon as she saw them. Still, she did not let go Patrick’s hand and he smiled.

When the group of men disappeared, she took a slow breath and approached him.

"Are you okay?"

She just nodded, but she did not look sad or worried.

They decided to return when they saw the time. Their walk to nowhere had been long enough.

When they got back to the house, Patrick took her hands and rubbed them together.

"Next time you wear gloves," he warned her, she laughed. Shelagh seemed more cheerful.

“After all, it was a real and very cute date. I really liked it,” she said.

"Yes," was all he could say seeing her sincere smile. He brought both her hands to his lips and kissed them slowly, still looking into her eyes.

He saw her swallow hard.

"I really liked this too," she whispered lightly.

Then, standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. She broke away instantly, embarrassed and looking around.

“I liked this too,” he winked at her and she giggled, her blush in all her face.

Reluctantly, they released their hands and said goodbye. He assured her that the next day he would see her and that he would be on time. Her light laugh told him that she did not believe him but that she was okay with it.

As Patrick walked back to his house, he could not help but feel the warmth and softness of Shelagh's hands in his.

His day had been the best.


	7. Shelagh: Do you want to know a secret?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to @levinson_mannion. Thank you for all your support and your love!  
> This little story is sad, but I didn't want to wait to thank you. You are so kind, and an excellent person!

She took a deep breath, looking at herself in the small mirror in her cell.

It was so bad that she looked there, but God would forgive her knowing her intentions.

If she said it out loud, face to face with herself, her statement would be true and she could fight it.

She trusted God and her faith. This was a silly obstacle that appeared in her life, and like so many other things, she would overcome without difficulty.

"I'm in love," she said in a broken whisper. She shook her head.

_Stronger,_ her mind screamed.

"I'm in love."

Now her voice was clearer and firmer and that convinced her. Admitting it would make things easier, it would be to recognize the enemy and know how to face it.

She was in love, and that would not be a big problem for another woman, but it was for her. Ten years ago she took an oath and also, never in her life, had she fallen in love with someone. She could not check if this was indeed love, but she just knew it.

"A nun in love, how stupid you are," she said, looking again in the mirror with contempt, challenging and insulting herself, in order to achieve the strength that she did not have.

She huffed, pulling off her cap in exasperation and letting her blonde hair fall. It was a difficult task, undoubtedly the hardest test that her god put in her way, and if she thought carefully, it was also something quite unfair.

She considered that she did things well, that she was compassionate, efficient, that she treated everyone with kindness and many other virtues that she could list. Therefore, she did not deserve such punishment.

“Who do you think you are, Shelagh Mannion?” she said, looking at herself indignantly.

There it was, her sins were pride and vanity. It was fine, she accepted it, she deserved the punishment and she would work with that burden until she managed to change her attitudes.

After all, it could not be that hard to stop loving someone.

She swallowed hard and glanced out the window. Her ears were so alert to _his_ presence that she could swear he had just arrived because she recognized his car's engine among the hundreds in the city. And the way he closed the door, his steps…

"God, enough, enough!" she tightened her eyelids, and then she too covered her ears with her hands, but she could hear his voice echoing through the hallways, speaking to one of her sisters or nurses.

"Please, stop!"

There were urgent knocks on her door and she quickly put on her cap. When she opened it, for her luck was none of her sisters, because immediately they would have noticed her loose strands of hair. It was just Jenny, and the girl was too worried to notice the non-observance of the nuns' rules.

"Sister, it's Dr. Turner."

_"You don't have to tell me, dear,"_ she thought, _"I know it's him, unfortunately for me."_

“There is a mother who has something like a...phobia of childbirth. Is that possible?"

"Sure, Nurse Lee," she said turning and reaching for her coat, which was on the bed. The girl continued speaking.

“Dr. Turner says the woman refuses to do anything if you are not there. Looks like you cared for her five previous babies and everything went well, so she doesn't want anyone else there unless it's you."

"Oh, Mrs Kent. I should have guessed. I saw her last week at the market and she told me, but I thought she was joking," she said already leaving the young nurse walking behind her, “You can come with us and learn how to handle these situations."

"I...uh...I'm sorry but I can't leave, I'm on duty," the young woman pointed to the phone.

Bernadette sighed. So God would play with her like that.

"It's okay Jenny," she smiled and the girl apologized again.

He was at the door, waiting for her and pacing from one side to the other.

She had to suppress a groan when she saw that he was smiling widely as she approached.

"Thank God, sister, you are here!"

"And where else could I be?" she smiled at him but bit the inside of one her cheeks.

_"Stop Shelagh, stop,"_ she repeated to herself, but was distracted by the sound of his laughter as he followed her and opened the car door for her.

"I said it because today is your day off."

She looked at him without understanding how he knew that, but he immediately explained himself.

“Nurse Lee told me when I asked about you. She said that she wasn't sure if you were here or not because it's your day off. I'm sorry I interrupted you in your things."

_"Don't worry, I was just trying to forget you,"_ she thought, but instead she just gave him a small smile as she got into the car.

"Don't worry, I was just tidying up a few things."

He smiled in relief, and quickly got into the car.

***

Mrs. Kent's delivery was as easy as Sister Bernadette imagined. The woman was so relieved when she saw her that it further accelerated the already rapid birth of a sixth baby.

She handled the whole situation with her usual calm, and only lost her composure a little when she saw Dr. Turner chatting animatedly with the newborn. He looked delighted with the plump pink baby, and even Mrs. Kent seemed surprised by the doctor's attitude.

"I promise that I will never get pregnant again, sister," the woman said as a way of farewell, after thanking her many times.

Bernadette laughed, because she doubted that was possible.

The Kents seemed to be Poplar's happiest marriage, and Bernadette proved it over and over again with Mr. Kent's concern for the births of his children, the constant dedication he put into his wife, and his effort to ensure that his entire family lived in the most comfortable way. Mrs. Kent adored him and maybe because of that, they could not stop having children in the few years they had been together. Even so, each new baby was greeted with happiness, and there was always music, games, and laughter in their home.

They were the perfect family, and to Bernadette they were wonderful people. She was used to seeing all kinds of loves and hates in her workplace, but this couple was special, the closest thing to true love she knew.

When she came downstairs from the Kent flat, with Dr. Turner behind her, something stirred in her chest, an irrepressible desire: she wanted the same.

With the same force that desire appeared, so did the certainty that she would never have that love.

"Are you fine, sister?" said the doctor, opening the door of his car and reaching out to take her medical bag.

"Yes, just a little tired," she lied, and tried to ignore her nerves jumping from the little brush of her hand with the doctor's when she handed him the bag.

He smiled at her again, that perfect smile that warmed her heart.

She wanted to cry right there, overwhelmed by the force of what she kept inside, her beautiful and terrifying secret.

_“I’m in love with you, with your smiles, with your voice, with your hands, with your kind words, with your intelligence, with your eyes, with your kindness, with your dedication to everyone, with your son, with your hair, with your car, your untidy clothes, the delicacy with which you hold a baby, your laugh. I love everything about you, but I can never say it to you."_

She pursed her lips, terrified that what her heart was screaming would be verbalized by her mouth. She got in the car and the second it took him to get in, she tried to steady her breathing.

He sat down next to her and started the engine.

"Can I invite you a tea?" he asked in a jovial voice, evidently pleased with how well things had gone with the Kents.

"I can't accept, doctor," she said without looking at him and he seemed to notice it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry; I forgot that nuns can’t…I’m sorry."

“However, I can invite you. In Nonnatus, of course."

He laughed and nodded.

“A girl inviting the man, that's very modern. Of course I accept."

Evidently he had no idea what he was causing with each of his words, and with each of his smiles, and she focused on looking at the street in front of her.

The road to Nonnatus was short, the Kents lived quite close.

When they arrived and he turned off the engine, he seemed to have left his enthusiasm behind. She opened the door to get out of the car but saw him thoughtful, and he also seemed not to be willing to follow her.

She looked at him questioningly.

“I'm sorry sister, but I will decline your offer of tea. I remembered that Tim will arrive in just half an hour from school, I don't want him to return to a lonely and dark house."

"Oh, I see. You can bring him, you know we will be happy with him here, he’s a lovely boy."

"Yes sister, but…Thank you, it will be another day."

His look was sad, she had seen that melancholy in his eyes many times and felt an extreme need to do something to prevent him from feeling that way.

The doctor looked straight ahead, tightened his fingers on the steering wheel, and sighed.

"When I see the Kents it's impossible for me not to think about...I'm sorry, sister," he shook his head, "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

She closed the car door, adjusted herself better in the seat and looked directly at him.

“Doctor, you don't have to apologize. I also feel the same,” then, to cover up such atrocious sincerity, she cleared her throat, “I mean, I feel happiness for them, but sadness for others who cannot have the same.”

"Yes, I understand," he said, nodding, but without looking at her, "if we were all happy there would be no more problems in the world."

"Yes, it would be easier," she whispered in response.

He made an incredibly sad half smile, and sighed again.

"Well, see you tomorrow doctor," she opened the door again and got out of the car.

He did the same and took her bag out of the trunk. When he handed it to her, she tried to smile at him as cheerfully as she could.

“My offer still stands, you can come with Timothy. Today, or whenever you want. You are not alone."

He smiled at her, this time a grateful smile. They said goodbye raising a hand and she climbed the steps, her soul heavier than ever.

Her task of forgetting how much she loved this man was going to be titanic.

She raised her eyes to the sky, it was cloudy, about to rain.

"God, give me strength. Please."

But when she was in the kitchen, talking to the nurses and trying to distract herself from her thoughts, she saw little Timothy come in with a huge smile.

"I came to have tea!" he announced, and all the women began to fill him with attentions. Behind the boy, his father came in with his sad smile, although his talk was intended to be cheerful.

No one noticed the effort he was making, except her, because she could not stop looking at him or feeling every one of his sorrows in her own heart.

She knew that fighting was impossible. There was no way to defeat a feeling, so she would learn to live with this sweet punishment.

She would secretly love him, she would be content with that.

She would help him in any way she could, make his life better even with small actions. He would never notice it, so it should be.

It would be her secret, which she would treasure in her heart forever.


	8. Patrick: Yellow Submarine

Everything was perfect.

Family, home, work, Poplar. Everything fit together like the pieces of a finished puzzle, forming a perfect picture.

Everything, except Angela.

Patrick leaned back in his chair, playing with a pen in one hand and a ball of paper in the other. It was night, dinner time was near, and he was feeling tired, but he could not get the doubt out of his head.

What was happening to his daughter?

She was only a month old, but her mind already seemed like the most difficult thing to decipher. He thought about how she would be over the years, when she reached adolescence. Would she continue like this? He trembled at the thought.

He just could not understand it. She lived up to her name, she was a perfect little angel who woke up at the right times to eat, and cried only as much as necessary to warn about her dirty diaper. She went enchanted from her mother's arms to Tim's or any of Nonnatus's nuns and nurses.

But every time he took her in his arms, everything seemed perfect for a couple of minutes and then she squirmed and immediately cried in a way that tore the soul of anyone who heard her.

He did not blame her, Shelagh was perfect too. Any baby in the world would beg to be in her arms, but Angela was too clear about her preference for Shelagh and her father seemed only a mere spectator of her growth.

He thought about the number of times he heard about father-daughter complicity. When he saw Angela in that crib the day they adopter her, he knew he would have that same connection with her. She would be his little princess, a totally new bond that he would have in his life.

But Angela seemed to have other plans.

She would never know, but she was breaking his heart.

"Patrick, are you done yet?"

He looked up and saw his wife smiling at him, with the guilty of his doubts in her arms. Angela was awake but still, looking around curiously.

He stood up, turned off the desk lamp, and followed Shelagh.

"Give her to me," he asked with a smile and Shelagh delightedly handed him the baby.

But Angela's peaceful face quickly turned into a hell of tears and screams.

Resigned, he returned her to Shelagh, just to check, to his dismay, that Angela soon calmed down and returned to her previous state as if nothing had happened.

Shelagh seemed unaware of what was bothering him, she just walked into the house and thanked Tim for setting the table. She began to serve the food, and Patrick looked at Angela in her bassinet. The baby seemed to glare at him, or maybe it was his head making those assumptions.

Patrick ate reluctantly, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. Neither Shelagh nor Tim noticed, they were chatting animatedly with each other.

"Well, I'll wash the dishes and then this lady will have her bath," Shelagh stood up, smoothing her skirt and gazing lovingly at the bassinet.

"I can do it," Patrick smiled, standing up as well.

"Hmm...I don't think that's a good idea Dad," Tim said finishing his meal, "She doesn't love you."

His son said it in a joking tone, laughing, and Shelagh laughed too, and Patrick pretended amusement, although he did not feel any of it.

"I'll do it," he tried to smile, moving closer to the bassinet, "We just need to chat to resolve our differences, don't we?"

Angela looked at him skeptically, though Patrick knew a baby was not capable of that.

He felt a surge of triumph when he took her into his arms and she did not protest. He rocked her a little while Shelagh prepared everything for the bath.

He did not want to say it out loud so that neither Shelagh nor Timothy would hear, so he tried to convey to Angela what he felt just with his gaze.

He needed this, he needed to bond with his little girl, and he could not forget how to help and bathe those babies healed his mind while he was in Northfield. There was something calming about doing that, holding the fragility of those babies and talking and bathing them gently, something so remote from the monsters that lived in his head.

It was the best therapy of all, it was what helped him heal. And not just him, he still remembered his companions becoming cuddly and delicate around those babies, trying to do everything right so that no nurse would take them out of their arms. Bathing a baby was the best.

He could not do it with Tim as many times as he needed it, his son grew up so fast and he had so little time. And when Shelagh came into his life and the chances of a baby in the house were part of their plans, he was happy.

Of course he wanted to play, and teach her things, and give her the bottle, sing to her, and all the things that a father wants to share with his baby. But most of all, he wanted to share that sweet and fun moment in the bath, laugh and splash everything and blow bubbles and sing.

But the first time he tried it was a disaster, because Angela just screamed and screamed, and Shelagh had to take over. And then, he did not want to try anymore, because he saw how his daughter wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

He looked into the baby's eyes.

_"Please,"_ he begged her.

"Well that's all done," Shelagh smiled at both of them.

Patrick was happy. His daughter was still calm, she seemed to understand that her mission that night was to help her father.

But right away Patrick knew that things would not be good. He had forgotten to roll up his sleeves, so he had to pass the baby to Shelagh. By the time he was ready and took her back in his arms, Angela was already getting angry and searching for her mother with increasing desperation.

"Here, leave me, I'll take her clothes off," Shelagh offered, but he pulled away from her, defensively, with the baby screaming more and more in his arms.

"I can do it alone."

His wife looked at him confused.

"Sure, I know," she said. Patrick could see Tim also looking at him strangely because of his behavior.

Patrick began to undress the baby, but by now the chaos was complete. Angela was kicking her feet and the tears ran down her face. He managed to get her into her pink tub, managed to coo and show her the rubber toys, but none of it interested her. She just kept crying pitifully until her mother appeared and Angela allowed herself to be bathed by Shelagh, although she was still upset and complaining.

"I don't understand," he muttered defeated, before disappearing into the bedroom.

****

The next day, he was walking down one of Poplar's busiest streets. There were several patients in the same row of houses, all with different flu states.

He passed a toy shop and the colored lights and music made him stop in front of the window. With a large sign they announced the arrival of new models of cars that surely Tim would want.

Also, there he saw a doll pram and thought of Angela. She was still a baby, but he could buy something like that. Hopefully by the time she was old enough to push a doll pram, Angela would love him.

He thought ruefully about the night before. And also that same morning, when he offered to give her the bottle and the scandal was such that Shelagh had to get up and Tim woke up quite angry because of the noise.

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

All babies loved everyone. Or so it seemed. He worked with babies all the time, and everyone seemed happy with him, except for his own daughter. What was he doing wrong?

"Maybe it's because I'm not her father."

It was painful, but it was the truth. He was not her father, he was a complete stranger to her. Shelagh was not her biological mother either, but Shelagh was different. Mothers were always better than fathers.

He looked at the display of toys in the window. Next to a pile of board games, there were boxes of baby toys. Among them were the typical rubber ducks to use during the bath. Angela had two, and with Shelagh or Tim, she looked at them with attention and interest, but if Patrick was the one taking them and wanted to play with her, she was scared.

He saw that next to the ducks there were other rubber animals such as lions, giraffes, dogs. And also, there was something that was not an animal.

"A submarine?"

That was strange. Why a weapon of war turned into a baby bath toy?

Its color, bright yellow, made it equal to ducks. Even its shape was similar, but it had decorations in contrasting colors. It was something different and striking.

He entered the toy shop and bought the submarine. That night Angela would probably scream and kick again, and Shelagh would end up tired and tell him to disappear from there with that rare toy, but at least he tried one more time.

If he failed, he would try again, and again, and again, until his daughter knew that he was not a stranger, but her father, and that he only wanted to love her.

***

"Oh Patrick it's all chaos, sorry!" Shelagh's voice received him before he could see her.

He closed the door and went into the kitchen, his wife was covered in flour and there was a strong burning smell.

"What happened? Can I help you?” He took off his coat and walked over to her, trying to figure out what was happening.

“Angela didn’t have a good day, she has colic. She has been crying all afternoon, and I forgot that I had the food in the oven, so everything is burned."

“Don't worry, I'll buy fish and chips. What happened to the flour?"

"That's another story. I couldn't reach the bottle that was in the cupboard, I had Angela in my arms, and I just reached out as far as I could but it turned over and all the flour fell on my head. And it covered Angela too so that bothered her more. It's a disaster!"

He tried not to laugh, the situation was hilarious and Shelagh looked very funny with flour all over her face. He approached to give her a hug, but she pulled away from him.

"Sorry Patrick, but I don't have time for hugs, look at this mess!"

"Easy Shelagh, it's just food. Tim will be here in a bit and he'll be happy with the fish and chips. We won't die from eating that. And you will bathe, I will clean here, and everything will be ready."

She smiled more convinced, came over to hug him. He was already about to kiss her when a heartbroken cry separated them.

"Leave me," he asked, but she took his arm.

"No Patrick, I can," she smiled at him, but he moved closer to the bassinet.

"You go and bathe, I'll take care of her."

He saw her doubting, and he understood her. He could not take care of Angela.

"Let me try, Shelagh."

Patrick must have sounded quite pleading, because she gave him a pitying look that almost tore him in two. He swallowed hard, so it was not apparent just to him that his daughter did not accept him.

“Very well,” she agreed, "I'll only take two minutes, so don't worry."

He just nodded in response, watching her rush up the stairs, before Angela realized she was not there.

Patrick leaned over the bassinet, where Angela was demonstrating the enormous capacity of her lungs and her throat to scream.

“Well, well, who do we have here? A future opera singer?" he smiled at her and touched her nose, which made the baby even more enraged.

Far from feeling defeated, he reached for his medical bag and rummaged there until he pulled out the little yellow rubber submarine.

Back with his daughter, he showed her the object.

“Angela, look what daddy bought you. You see it? It’s a submarine. And it’s yellow! Do you like it?" he squeezed the object, which made a funny sound. Angela barely calmed down, but her eyes were fixed on her new toy.

"Do you like it? Look at it,” Patrick moved the toy as if sailing through an imaginary sea in front of the baby's eyes. Angela stopped crying, followed the movement of the submarine with her gaze.

"And now this submarine will go through the sea and reach the island of Angela, the baby covered in flour!" risking at a burst of rage, he tickled the baby's belly with the toy. Angela made no move in her face, but she shook her legs in something that to Patrick did not seem like protest, but amusement.

"What do you say if we proceed to bathe you?"

He put the toy on the bassinet and picked her up. He saw that the girl was looking for the submarine with her eyes, so he took it and held it in front of her, making another funny sound.

The murmurs and gurgles now filled the kitchen. There was no crying or complaining, just fascination with the little rubber submarine that Patrick had now put on her belly, while he with one hand he prepared her bathtub on the kitchen counter.

When he had everything ready, he began to undress her, leaving the rubber submarine within reach of Angela's gaze. The girl did not complain, and neither did when her father gently dipped her into the warm water.

For the first time, Angela did not cry or look at him with hatred, but seemed completely happy in his arms. Patrick sighed in relief, the strange toy had done the magic on her.

Angela stretched out her little fingers for the submarine, and Patrick spoke to her and squeezed it, which seemed to amuse the girl. He tried to do the same with the rubber ducks, but they were not as interesting as the submarine.

"You like this toy, don't you?" he smiled at her, feeling more and more confident. Angela even seemed to enjoy being in his company.

He invented all kinds of songs related to the submarine and shook it from one side to the other, noticing how his daughter followed all the movements of his hands.

Shelagh and Tim walked into the kitchen together, and Patrick saw that they were both staring at him in disbelief.

"Dad, how did you do that?" the boy asked, putting his backpack on the ground and walking over.

"Patrick, look how happy she is!" Shelagh also approached.

“No, no, no, this is a father and daughter moment, so get out the two of you. Here I’m chatting with Angela, isn't that so, baby?" he squeezed the toy in front of Angela's face, then touched her little nose. The girl shook her legs and arms, a small smile on her face. She still could not laugh, but she clearly was happy, trying to take the toy and also looking and listening carefully to her father, completely ignoring her mother and her brother.

When the bath was over, Patrick lifted her out of the water and carefully dried her with her soft pink towel. The yellow submarine was floating in the water, but Angela did not seem to need it anymore. She only had eyes for her father.

Since that night, Angela only allowed her father to bathe her. Any attempt by Shelagh was totally rejected, and any bath without her yellow submarine was also rejected. The baby had already set her conditions.

She did not cry anymore in Patrick's arms either, and she started making crying scandals only to stop when she saw him.

They became the perfect couple.


End file.
